A True Diplomat
by True Colours
Summary: 'Let there be no mistake! Neither our peace nor our ideals shall be compromised. I will do everything in my power to allow our two races to build a safe and stable society together.' The President of the United States meets Pai for the first time.


**A True Diplomat**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own TMM.

**A/N: Hi guys! Now, I swear I didn't post this fic just as an advertising opp, but at the moment I'm participating in a collaboration fic with a group of other authors – Essence of Gold, Kiichigo-chan, GypsyxSilent and Saba's Reflection. The idea is that readers guess which of us wrote which chapter. Now I'm super-excited about this bunny, but we don't have a whole lot of reviews yet, so if you like my writing – or any of the others' – go to Gypsy-san's account and check it out, if you have a moment?**

**This fic is set after my fic 'Accidentally-on-Purpose.' I should probably have written it back then, when the fic was still fresh in people's minds, but whatever. Anyway, the basic scenario is this: Deep Blue is dead, and the humans and aliens have formed a truce and are in the middle of negotiating, trying to decide how to set the aliens up on Earth. **

**Also: Hurray! I finally get to say that I'm typing this with an exam in the morning. Though sadly not that I'm typing this AT ONE AM with an exam in the morning. It's only three o'clock :'(. Anyway, I think I got a bit carried away during the negotiations section, considering that this is meant to be a fic about Pai and the President interacting, but never mind. Sorry if it gets too boring, and also bear in mind I know next to nothing about the United Nations. I wrote this with Wikipedia open beside me.**

President Obama jogged down the hotel steps towards the waiting car. He held a black leather briefcase in one hand and a Styrofoam cup of coffee in the other, and he blinked hard and suppressed a yawn as he pulled open the car door and slid into the backseat.

'Good morning, Mr President,' the driver greeted him, starting the engine.

'Morning, Harry,' the President answered, pulling the lid off his coffee. A plume of richly-scented steam billowed upwards, and he took a long gulp before settling back into the seat. 'You know where to go.'

'United Nations building,' Harry nodded, pulling away from the curb. Obama took another sip of coffee and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 04:45. God.

It was just starting to get light. Obama stared out of the window, watching the deserted freeway racing past. Grey crash barriers, grey tarmac, dawn light seeping into a grey sky. There were still a few faint stars over to the west, while the eastern horizon showed a streak of duck-egg green. It was nice, in a way; the stillness, the solitude of the empty road, the sense that the whole world was waiting for the sun. His hands were cold. It was very, very quiet.

By five-fifteen they were driving through the outskirts of the city. The sun was rising now, spilling gold across the grey, and there were tiny pink clouds floating high up. A car sped past them, and another, and as they hit the first traffic light a bus heaved itself into gear behind them. He was starting to feel a little more awake now – the coffee had done its stuff – and Harry, sensing this, began to talk.

'Pretty crazy, this, isn't it? Bet all the ambassadors are having their work cut out, aren't they.'

'You got that right. I doubt there's been a UN conference this intensive since 9/11. Just my luck, right?' The President sighed. 'Well, we can only hope this thing doesn't go the same way. It doesn't count as a crisis yet, thank God, but still, it's in a different league. Aliens!'

'I know!' Harry gave a chuckle. 'Man, it sucks that all those UFO panic-mongers were right.'

Obama grinned quietly, rolling his coffee cup in his hands.

'I just can't believe that the Japanese managed to keep it quiet all this time. So how's it coming? The negotiations?'

'You know I can't tell you that, Harry. Everything that goes down in session's confidential until the press conference.'

Harry was abashed. 'Sorry, Mr President. I won't ask.'

'No problem.' Obama sighed again, went to take another swig of coffee and found the cup empty. Shrugging, he wedged it between the door and the seat of the car and spoke again. 'We're having to keep security doubly tight this time. The situation's unique; I hate to think what a bunch of rumours flying round could do to it. These people, these Cyniclons, they aren't used to our publicity machine yet. Heck, even I'm not used to it. They're still very tense; I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that, and I think some of them are shit-scared too. Damn, I shouldn't even be telling you this.'

'It won't go any further sir, don't worry.'

'Thanks.' The car slowed down as they reached a security checkpoint. A guard peered in at the window, checked Harry's ID, ran a scanner around the car and then waved them through. A couple of minutes later they were pulling up outside the United Nations building.

Obama checked his watch. 'Great, I've got ten minutes. Listen, Harry, could you head down to Starbucks and grab me another coffee while I sign in? I have a report to make first thing; gotta be awake.'

'Sure, sir.' Harry nodded at him as he climbed out of the car, then accelerated away.

Obama entered the building and reported his arrival to the receptionist before heading to security. Everything still felt a little trance-like; a fortnight of four am starts had taken their toll. He moved through the various security procedures mechanically, focussing on not yawning in the faces of the various clerks and officials. At least his head wasn't aching.

He received his jacket and shoes from the security guard and stepped into the antechamber. It was already bustling with delegates, and he quickly mustered a smile to greet first the South African foreign secretary and then the Japanese prime minister himself. Obama couldn't stop his eyes from lingering for a moment on the man who had known that all this was going on while the rest of the world was still completely oblivious. He knew that an underground group had been fighting the alien vanguard in the Japanese capital for months before the issue went public, and that the government – or some of it – had been aware of the situation. They had remained carefully ambiguous in the debate so far, but privately Obama wondered whether the Prime Minister wouldn't rather see the aliens defeated than settled on Earth.

A bell rang, and the delegates began to file into the main assembly hall. Obama allowed himself to be swept along with the rest, waiting patiently in the bottleneck around the door until his turn came to pass through. Inside, the great space was echoing with the sounds of ministers moving around, settling into chairs, greeting one another in a babble of different languages. He spotted the American Ambassador and moved over to join her, scanning the room as he did so. All the different nationalities were there: British, European, Eastern, Slavonic and African, and, on the far side of the hall, the five Cyniclon delegates with their long ears and multi-hued hair.

At that moment the Secretary-General stood and rapped with his hammer. All the conversations suddenly cut off, and there was a collective rustle as the Assembly took their seats. Obama felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Harry, holding a cup of coffee. He took it with a mouthed 'thank you,' and turned back to face the front as the UN President rose to speak.

* * *

It was an interminable morning. The room was full of unvoiced fears and issues delicately skirted round. Obama listened with impatience as the Secretary went over the minutes from the previous week's feasibility conference, weighing up the pros and cons each country had raised with regards to their own home situation. As far as he was concerned, giving these aliens living space was the only morally sound thing to do; any discussion about what they _should_ do was a waste of time. He didn't need a bunch of delegates and a week's worth of early starts to tell him that such an action was going to be difficult. _Never mind, _he soothed himself. _Hopefully we'll find out today how many people are actually in favour of giving these guys a home in principle, and then we can get down to deciding if it can be done._ He glanced across at the Cyniclons, blowing on his coffee as he did so. They were a bizarre-looking lot, no denying it, with their metallic eyes and fangs and bound-up hair. The muscular, russet-haired male was glaring as the Secretary listed difficulty after difficulty, but the man beside him looked perfectly calm. Pai-san, his name was. He drew his thumb slowly down the side of his chin, watching the secretary with calculating eyes.

Obama's interest quickened when a man named Shirogane Ryou rose to speak. This was the leader of the Tokyo Mew Mew organisation; it was the first time they'd sent a representative to speak in the assembly. Ryou looked young, not more than twenty, but he carried himself tall and spoke with confidence.

'...opinion polls suggest that there is considerable support for a Cyniclon housing programme among the residents of Tokyo. The Tokyo Mew Mew team are willing to assist the government in facilitating such a programme. And while I have your attention, I'd like to point out some of the benefits that these people could bring to our society as citizens. This honourable delegation – ' He earned a small laugh with this – 'has often expressed its concern over environmental damage and climate change. I can assure you that the Cyniclons share your concern.' Ryou grinned a bit, as though at some private joke. 'I believe that sharing this planet with a different, equally intelligent species could be very beneficial to our outlook on life.'

A hand was raised and the Polish ambassador stood. 'Mr Shirogane,' he said, 'you mentioned a housing programme. May I point out that Japan is already a crowded island? Globally, I think that there will be issues with regards to limiting the population –'

'The population's got to be limited sometime,' Ryou shrugged, and there was another laugh.

The Polish ambassador gave a tight smile. 'Just so. But if we were to accept these aliens –'

'It's not a question of _if_,' Ryou cut him off with a growl. 'It's a question of _how_. There _is_ no moral question.'

The bold statement provoked a nervous rustling throughout the hall, but Obama saw that here and there people were nodding. The UN President raised a hand for silence, and shuffled his papers, glossing over the awkward moment as the two delegates frowned at one another.

'Thank you, Mr Shirogane,' he nodded. 'The Representative for the United States of America will speak next.'

President Obama took one last mouthful of coffee and rose to his feet. Beneath him, there was a ripple of renewed interest around the hall as people realised that the American President himself was going to speak. He glanced down at his notes, but decided that he would not follow them just yet.

'Delegates,' he said, 'the Polish ambassador expressed anxiety over issues of population control. Of course, his concern is quite justified; population laws have led to terrible atrocities in the past. However – ' he spread his hands wide, reaching out to include everyone in the hall – 'what is our organisation for, if not to prevent such atrocities? I feel confident that, in our modern, regulated and gender-equal society, such problems can be avoided. And now, feasibility.

'The American government has met with several registered charities over the past few weeks, as well as businesses including American Bank and Starbuck's coffee. They are all willing to endorse and fund housing programmes similar to the one mentioned by Mr Shirogane. I'd say that, in the US at any rate, we've got the support and resources to give it a try. We've also had our state governments report on any unpopulated areas suitable for settling...of course, eating into our nature reserves is the last thing we want to do, but there's quite extensive areas of uninhabited land, for example up in Alaska – sorry,' he continued, speaking directly to the Cyniclons now. 'I know it's not ideal, considering where you've come from, but –'

'On the contrary, Mr Obama,' one of the Cyniclons – a woman – said. 'We have lived in a cold climate for generations; I think that your cooler regions would be more suited to our needs.'

'Well, even better,' Obama smiled, checking his notes once again. 'Now, of course, considering your physical advantages, the trade unions in particular have expressed concern over the impact this might have on human employment in the long run...' He tailed off. The alien named Pai had raised his hand, and at a nod from the president, he rose and spoke.

'You humans have advantages too, Mr Obama.'

'Such as?'

The Cyniclon smiled. 'Adaptability, both physical and mental. Cyniclons are able to learn fast and to analyse, but we don't have your intuition. An employer will always choose a human for flexible thinking.'

'Well, that's just great,' Obama answered. He was aware of the people around him growing restless. The UN hadn't even agreed on giving the Cyniclons a home yet, and he and Pai were talking over their heads as though everything was already decided. The rebel and the radical in him were both enjoying it, but he decided it was time to sit down.

'The Representative for the Republic of Ireland...'

* * *

The morning meeting adjourned half an hour late. As the Assembly filed out for refreshments, Obama paused for a few minutes to review his translator's record of the speeches he hadn't been able to understand, and to talk with the other American representatives. Then he made his way out into the antechamber. It was fairly quiet now; a few people were sitting on chairs and couches around the walls, others were in the next room getting food, or back in the assembly hall, reading their notes. Not feeling hungry, and properly awake for the first time that morning, he raised his arms over his head, took a long stretch, and looked around the room. He didn't particularly feel like talking to politicians at the moment. Then he spotted Pai, sitting by himself in one of the red velvet armchairs.

The Cyniclon was resting his head in his hands, rubbing rhythmically at his temples in a posture Obama knew all too well. He felt as though he would have liked some time on his own, but he found himself approaching Pai instead. He was curious; he hadn't had a chance to talk at length with any of the aliens yet. Pai must have been as out of it as he was, because he didn't look up until Obama was standing directly opposite him. Then he jumped violently, looking up with an expression of undue alarm. But then, Obama supposed, he was a soldier surrounded by potential enemies. He had been impressed by this alien's ability to negotiate, considering that he was some sort of general among his own people, a fighting man.

'What a week, huh?' he said, sliding into the other armchair. Without relaxing, Pai gave the slightest of nods.

He was much younger than he had appeared from across the conference hall. In his early twenties, maybe. It surprised Obama to see someone so young already in such a position of responsibility, but he supposed a life like the one the Cyniclons led would make for an old head on young shoulders. And, in harsh conditions, a man in the flower of strength would have to be young. There were deep purple shadows under his eyes, and he looked wary.

Obama decided to just keep talking. 'I don't think even my election campaign was this tiring. In here at six am every day and out at seven in the evening, and then I've still got to get home and read to the kids –'

'Read?' Pai said, so suddenly that Obama nearly jumped. With the single word, the cultural gap yawned.

'Sure, story books and such, you know?' he tried to explain. 'I swore to my wife I wouldn't let this job get in the way of my family, you see, but, well, I didn't foresee this.'

'You didn't believe in aliens?' Pai grinned. A glint of fangs showed beneath his upper lip. He spoke English with a slight Japanese accent.

'Well, I don't know that it's a question of believing, so much. I thought that in all probability there were other planets with life out there, but I didn't see the evidence to prove that they'd made it to Earth yet. So were all those UFO sightings you guys all along?'

'A few, maybe. Not many.'

'So most of them were just mistakes. Well, that's something, at least. Unless it turns out you're just the tip of the iceberg, and there's all kinds of different creatures out there...' Obama shook his head with a shaky laugh. 'Sorry, I just can't quite get over it. Another planet out there that supports life.'

'Just barely,' Pai said. 'We evolved on Earth, you know. I doubt anything on our planet would have grown without technological assistance.'

'Yes, but still,' Obama said, undeterred. 'Another...sentient species...' He gestured towards Pai. 'I'm sorry,' he said again, 'it just blows my mind.'

He fell silent. There was an awkward pause, and he wondered if he might have overdone it, letting his enthusiasm show too much. It couldn't be pleasant to be gawked at like a scientific specimen. But then Pai drew breath, moving his hand in a vague circle as he searched for words.

'I suppose it must be very different for your kind,' he said. 'You see, for us, all the time we are knowing...we knew...I'm sorry, my English –' He stifled a yawn with a hand to his mouth. Obama was impressed. For the first few days the Cyniclons hadn't attempted to conceal yawns, sneezes or anything else, but it seemed they'd quickly caught on.

'Excuse me,' Pai apologised. He looked more tired than ever.

'You do look pretty tired,' Obama observed. 'You should get some coffee.'

Pai shook his head. 'I have already had some today.'

'I suppose one cup's probably as much as is good for you,' Obama said conversationally, trying to relax the atmosphere – Pai still looked as tense as a coiled spring. 'I drink far too much.'

'How much?'

Obama smiled. 'Two large whites and counting, but what can you do?'

'You all are working very hard,' Pai said quietly. Getting up early...lots of talk...'

'Yes...' Obama prompted.

'I didn't expect –' Pai cut off short, and changed tack. 'Do you really believe it will be possible? To make room?'

'Sure it will. You heard what Ree-oh Shirogane said, right? And about Starbuck's?'

'Yes, but there are others...the Polish and Japanese ministers think it will be difficult...'

'Do they, now?' Obama muttered. 'Well, I've got my own opinions on that.' He looked up as the bell shrilled. 'Well, it looks like we're back on. Bad as high school.' He stood up.

'High school?' Pai echoed, following suit.

'Yes. Bells all the time. Well, it was good to be able to speak to you personally, Pai-san.' He nodded and smiled as the room began to fill with people once more.

* * *

'On my first day as your president, I said that we must not put our safety before our ideals. Since its founding, the ideal of this nation of ours has been that all are created equal, that all have the right to pursue freedom and happiness. I look upon the current situation as an opportunity for us to uphold this ideal. To put it into practise.'

Obama paused, and when he spoke again his voice was lower. 'The United States of America was founded and built upon immigration and new ideas. And where can we find newer ideas than among immigrants from another planet? Let there be no mistake! Neither our peace nor our ideals shall be compromised. I will do everything in my power to allow our two races to build a safe and stable society together. Peace, prosperity, integration and co-operation – these have and always will be the aims of the United Nations. Thank you.'

He inclined his head in acknowledgement of the polite applause of the studio audience, then made his way out of the room. He had missed part of the UN's morning session in order to deliver a televised speech – a welcome development, as the TV crew had not required him until eight, allowing him to take a full two hours of extra sleep. He made his way quietly towards the assembly hall, preparing to slip in at the back, but there was no need; the antechamber was full of the babble of voices. The meeting had clearly just broken up. Obama made a beeline for the American Ambassador.

'What's the news, Susan?' he asked quietly.

'I think the tide's turned. They've started discussing terms for a treaty that will put a formal end to the hostilities and begin a settlement programme for the Cyniclons.'

'Talk, talk, talk,' Obama muttered. 'No wonder our Cyniclon friends are feeling doubtful.'

'That's the way democracy works, Mr Obama.'

'Maybe. Myself I'll welcome the day when people can lead with their heads and their hearts, rather than their reputations. Nobody says what they mean.'

Susan pursed her lips. 'Don't demand to know what the Polish minister's problem is, will you?'

'Of course not.'

'Good.'

Obama turned away, scanning the room. _Everybody wants to end the hostilities,_ he thought. _Everybody knows roughly what needs to be done. Why do we have to call it a treaty?_

Four of the five Cyniclons were standing in a knot in one corner, but Pai wasn't among them. Looking round, Obama spotted him sitting in the same armchair as before, this time reading a newspaper. 'Good morning, Pai-san,' he said, walking over.

'Good morning, Mr President,' Pai returned. The address sounded awkward on his lips, and Obama smiled.

'Pai-san, how come you're avoiding your friends?' he asked.

'I'm not,' Pai said shortly.

'You just don't seem to be with them much.'

'They don't understand.'

'Understand what?' Obama asked, puzzled.

Pai sighed. 'Why I have changed my opinions...I used to be quite...militant, and they don't see why...' He rustled the newspaper impatiently.

It had been a bad line of questioning. Obama tried a different tack. 'What are you reading?'

Pai seemed relieved by the change of subject. 'I am finding out the news from back in Japan.' He offered the paper. It was printed all over in Japanese characters. In the middle of a page there was a picture of five girls, with 'Tokyo Mew Mew' printed underneath in English, followed by a caption that Obama couldn't understand.

'I'm sorry,' he said, handing it back. 'I don't speak Japanese.'

'Oh. Well, this article is about Tokyo Mew Mews' campaign to raise support for peace between us,' Pai explained.

'Tokyo Mew Mew...sorry, it sounds like a funny name to an English speaker. But they fought you, right?'

'And beat us,' Pai agreed. 'But now...well, they helped to end the hostilities.' His eyes were fixed on the paper, but they weren't moving from side to side. It looked as though he was staring at the picture. 'My old companions are still in Tokyo. I was reading this because I thought there might be some news about them...one of them was still in hospital when I left, and it was my fault. But there's nothing.' He sighed. 'I would like to see them.'

'But you can teleport, right?' Obama said. 'Couldn't you just go back over there whenever you wanted?'

'Yes, but I'd prefer to wait until all this is over. I couldn't properly enjoy their company if I had to focus on this.'

'I see what you mean. But sure you could ask for some time off. Heck, even I don't come in every day, and I'm the president of the United States. They could send someone else for a while.'

'No. This is where I am needed, I think.'

'They could spare you for a few –'

'I have my own reasons!' Pai snapped. Tight-lipped and glaring, he was a fearsome sight, but Obama was gladder that he felt comfortable enough to snap than anything else.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to pry.'

They sat in silence for a few moments and he looked away, trying to detach his mind and think of something else so as not to feel awkward. Then suddenly Pai said:

'How did you propose to your wife?'

'Um...over dinner?' Obama said, baffled. Pai nodded.

'I see, And...how would you have proposed to her if you had been trying to kill her for most of a year?'

'Oh,' Obama said. 'Oh! Uh...I see.'

'Yes,' Pai nodded. He smiled sadly, and Obama looked at him with fresh eyes. The expression was too old for him, but despite that, and despite the fangs, long ears and alien clothes, he looked incredibly human, and incredibly young. Nothing but a confused, love-lorn teenager. Obama shook his head. A person his age should be crammed into a student room with a bunch of friends, studying for finals and discussing how to set the world to rights, not doing it for real in a United Nations conference on five hours sleep.

'Who?' he asked quietly, looking at the newspaper again.

'That's my business,' Pai said defensively.

The bell was ringing. Obama got to his feet.

'Well, in answer to your question, I don't know exactly how I'd do it,' he said. 'But I'd do it positively, and I'd do it fast.'

'You would?'

'Soon as I could. And now I suppose we'd better get in there.'

* * *

The evening was blue, and full of the swish of distant cars. Obama stood at the top of the steps for a moment, while other delegates skirted around him and made for their cars. The road in front of the United Nations building was quiet in the mornings, but by the time the meeting broke up it was crowded with press. The reporters knew that the delegates couldn't discuss the negotiations until a decision had been agreed upon by the Assembly, so they didn't bother to wait in the mornings, but at the end of the day there was the chance of a statement by the President or the Secretary-General, and a whole day's worth of discussion to be guessed at from the faces of the departing politicians. A camera went off somewhere in the road, and Obama grimaced as the flash burnt purple splotches into his vision.

He stepped into view and the shutter clicks increased in rapidity. Obama headed quickly down the steps towards his car, keeping his eyes on the ground as flash after flash illuminated the building.

Halfway down he passed a figure who wasn't moving, and who looked familiar out of the tail of his eye. Turning, he recognised Pai. He was standing, uncertain, his eyes screwed up against the flashes. He looked lost and careworn, and very, very tired.

Obama stopped. He knew that, in the end, he and the United Nations could only do so much. They were only spokesmen, in the end, representatives of the people. The people had to support any decision made. And above all, they had to believe that peace was possible.

Flashbulbs were exploding all around them. There would never be a better time.

'Pai-san!' he called. Pai looked round, and relief flooded his features at the sight of a familiar face. Obama stepped back up on a level with him, turned sideways on to the building and the press and shook his hand.

The photographers went mad. He could see people moving down below, running between cars for a clearer shot. He could also see, in his mind's eye, the headlines:

**President and Cyniclon Shake Hands. Peace for our Time?**

Well, no need to deprive them of material. He didn't break the handshake as he leaned forward to speak, shouting over the noise.

'It was good to see you again.'

'And you also.' Pai's response was relaxed, formal but friendly. Already he was getting this, this negotiating business. He would make a true diplomat one day.

'You have a good evening. And Pai-san – good luck.'

'Thank you,' Pai replied, gripping his hand more firmly for a moment before letting it go. 'Good evening.'

Obama nodded and turned away down the steps. He pulled open the door of his car and slid in, settling into the familiar leather seat.

'Straight home, sir?' Harry asked, revving the engine.

'Definitely,' Obama agreed.

'So you shook hands with a Cyniclon?' Harry observed as they slid into the traffic. 'You're a braver man than me. That guy looked dangerous, to put it mildly.'

'Yes,' Obama agreed. 'But he's alright, really. I've got a good feeling about this, Harry. Make no mistake. A very good feeling.'

_Fin_

**A/N: That didn't come out quite how I intended. I meant it to be less about Obama advising Pai on his love life, and more about him just generally trying to put Pai at ease. But it was one of those bunnies that changes every time you think it through, so in the end I just had to pin it down as best I could. Oh, and I did my music exam, people! **

**Many thanks to:**

**Gypsy-san, Saba and Kiichi, who assured me that this fic would have a market.**

**Daddy, who told me that Obama's catchphrase is: 'let there be no mistake!' **

**And Essence of Gold, who swept in as I was reading over the first four pages and doubting whether it was going to work, glanced through it and reached for her slave-driving beta-whip. **

**True xxx**


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